Music: Last Curtain

The dapper, slightly-stooped man who
stood with a little black bag in his hand, ringing the elevator bell on
the tenth floor of Manhattan's Hotel Vanderbilt one afternoon last week
was nervous. Everything was in order in the room he had left. Trunks
were packed with costumes, photographs, stacks of letters bound with
rubber bands brittle with age. There remained to distinguish the hotel
room from hundreds of others ready to be abandoned only a photograph of
big-chested Enrico Caruso in a white-piped vest and a little bronze
head which Caruso had...